A Slow Boil (22 page)

“So much,” I managed to get out.  He pulled up and braced his
hands on the desk on either side of my head, watching my face as he moved above
me.  I turned my head and kissed his beautiful fingers, the only part of
him I could still reach with my mouth.  He put his hand on my cheek, and I
drew one of his fingers into my mouth, sucking on it as he kept moving within
me, completely filling me, every cell in me awakened and alive and desperate
for him.

He watched my face as we both grew closer to falling apart. 
I climaxed first, having no ability to hold back and wait for him, releasing
his finger to cry out my pleasure.  He joined me soon, his final thrusts
violent, his expression one of almost pain as he released into me.  He
stayed braced above me, still watching me as I came back together.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life,” he said
almost to himself, returning his hand to my cheek, caressing it tenderly with
his thumb.  I looked up into his eyes, my love for him surely written all
over me, like a third presence in the room.  I let my eyes tell him the
truth this time, not trusting my voice yet.  He read them once, twice,
then leaned down and kissed me so delicately I barely felt his lips.

I let out something close to a sob and wrapped my arms around his
shoulders.  He eased out of me, but picked me up and sat back down in his
chair, holding me around him, neither one of us ever wanting to let go. 
If we weren’t ready to say the words yet, that was okay.  We both knew.

Dinner was very late that night.

I went back to my mostly-obedient self after that, but my little
outburst seemed to have changed something in Mr. Hunter.  It was like he
finally let go of any concerns he had about us being together, reassured
finally that I wanted him as much as he wanted me.  He was freer with me
in conversation, opened up more about himself, teased me less frequently,
touched
me more often.

Another week or two passed.  Mr. Hunter was working more than
ever.  His Wednesday appointment turned out to be the day he went to
campus to meet with whomever he was working with to discuss their
projects.  He confessed that some Wednesdays he hadn't had meetings set up
but had left the house anyway so that Mrs. Sheridan could clean his
office.  He’d while away the hours in coffee shops or bookstores, waiting
until it was safe to come back.  The way he told the story made me laugh
out loud.

The last week of July we had our first argument since the night he
took me out to Pierre’s.

“Miss Lane, I believe this decision is mine to make, not yours.”

“I can do it myself, Mr. Hunter.”

“At least let me get someone in here to help with the meals.”

“No way.  I don’t want any strangers in my kitchen.”

“Your kitchen?”

“Yes, it’s mine now.  I should have told you.”

“Fine, you can have the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m having someone come in on Saturday to get the house
ready, and that’s final."

“You are so stubborn.”  I was beginning to give in.  I
really needed the time this weekend to finalize my University application,
which was due Monday.

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

“You told me I was expected to work harder when you had
company.  I’m just trying to do my job.”  I’d had my arms crossed but
now that I’d won the point about sharing my kitchen, I reached up and put my
hands on his shoulders.

He slid his hands over my hips.  “That was before getting
accepted at Noble this fall became your most important duty.  I changed
your job description.  I should have told you.”

Thursday evening he came down to the kitchen while I was making
dinner, something he did now at least three or four times a week.  He’d
offer to help with whatever I was making, and if I didn’t need help, he’d sit
at the island, watching me work, making small talk.

I handed him a couple of ears of corn and asked him to shuck them
for me while I started pot of water to boil and then went out to start the
grill.  When I came back in, he cleared his throat.

“So my brothers arrive Sunday around three, if their flight’s on
time.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”  I pulled some chicken breasts and
lettuce out of the fridge.

“I’ve been wondering what to tell them about us.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, obviously not about our dinners, but I’m not sure what
else I should say.  I thought I'd better ask you how you want to handle
it.”

“I haven’t thought about it yet, to be honest.  What are my
choices?”

“I want to do whatever makes you the most comfortable. 
Whether that’s pretending that you’re merely my live-in housekeeper or telling
them that you’re my girlfriend,” he looked up me, his use of that word for the
first time not lost on either of us, “is entirely up to you.”

I moved to stand behind him, putting my arms around his shoulders
while he continued working on the corn.

“Will they give you a lot of grief if we tell them we’re together?” 
I rested my chin on his shoulder.

“Some, I’m sure.  How much I don’t know.”

“Would you rather pretend we’re not together?”

“No, frankly.  I don’t mind telling them the truth and it’s
going to be almost impossible for me to keep my hands off you for a week,
especially if you go back to sleeping in your old room while they’re here.”

I kissed the side of his neck.

“But I’ll do whatever you prefer, Miss Lane.  It’s up to
you.”

“Then I think I’d rather not leave my boyfriend’s bed.  Now
that you’ve given me the kitchen, it’s the next thing on my list.  Let’s
tell them.”

Mr. Hunter’s brothers were charming.  Robert was the elder of
the two, Jonathan the younger.  Both had the same good manners and dry wit
as Mr. Hunter but were more outgoing and relaxed.  Mr. Hunter introduced
me to them as his housekeeper-turned-girlfriend, one arm around my waist. 
Robert looked at Mr. Hunter with a question on his face but Jonathan reached
out immediately for my hand, shaking it with enthusiasm and asking me how I put
up with Adam.  I grinned and said I had him pretty well-trained at this
point, which made everyone laugh, and that was it, I was accepted.

I got my application turned in Monday after lunch and biked to
Southbay’s
for a few things I’d forgotten to get on
Saturday when Mr. Hunter and I had driven into town to load up on
groceries.  When I returned I could hear Robert and Mr. Hunter talking in
the living room.

“She’s awfully young, Adam.”

“I’m perfectly aware of her age.”

I guessed they were talking about me and didn’t want to hear
it.  Instead, I pulled the door closed and got busy on dinner.  Mr.
Hunter and I had agreed it would be too much for me to serve everyone, so I’d
been setting out meals buffet-style in the kitchen, where everyone fixed their
own plates.  Still, there was a lot of food to make.

Even with the door pulled closed, I could hear unfamiliar noises
in the house.  Laughter, children running on the stairs, doors
banging.  I turned on my radio, figuring no one would notice it, and wondered
how Mr. Hunter was coping.

I found out a couple of hours later when he came in for a quick
visit.  He picked me up off my feet and kissed me.

“Are you doing all right down here?  Need any help?”

“No, I’ve got it.  How are you handling all the commotion? 
It sounds like a parade is going on out there.”

He shook his head with a grimace.  “It’s great to see my
family, I mean that, but I’d much rather be in here with you.”

“My poor man.  I’d make up something for you to help me with,
but it’d be rude of you to stay in here.  Now, go on back out, and I’ll
see you at dinner.”

“You’ll sit with us tonight?”

I’d declined to join the family last night, figuring they needed
some time together to catch up but now I was eager to learn more about
them.  “I’d love to.”

Dinner was ready at six, although the children had wandered in at
five-thirty.  I found simple tasks to keep them busy as I put the dishes
together and set everything out.  When the adults arrived, everyone
started filling their plates and heading into the dining-room.  I stayed
until I was sure everyone had what they needed and then took off my apron, made
a plate for myself and brought it in.  Everyone was seated except Mr.
Hunter, who was standing behind my usual chair.

“Here you are, Miss Lane,” he smiled, pulling the chair out for
me.

“Thank you, Mr. Hunter,” I smiled back as I sat down.

He made drinks and poured wine, then sat down, putting a hand on
my knee under the table.

“This is delicious,” Jonathan's wife Cecilia said, taking a bite of
the rice dish.

“Thank you.”

“The salmon’s done perfectly,” Robert added.

“I love what you’ve done with the asparagus.”  Robert's wife
Joanne turned to me from the other end of the table.  “Normally I don’t
care for asparagus, but this is delicious. How did you make it, Miss Lane?”

“I roasted it with olive oil and sea salt.  And please, call
me Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, you’re an amazing cook.  No wonder Adam’s so taken
with you,” Jonathan said.

I felt Mr. Hunter give me a squeeze on my knee.  I hadn’t
consciously intended to make a one-hand-only meal but was glad I did, his touch
so familiar at this point that I would have felt lost without it.

Apart from answering a few more generic questions about myself, I
kept quiet through most of the meal, just absorbing what details I could about
Mr. Hunter’s family.  The conversation floated around me as I gleaned that
Robert and Joanne were both
attorneys, that
Jonathan
was an executive at an insurance company, and Cecilia worked for an internet
company.  They were all obviously well-educated and successful, and I
tried to imagine myself at thirty, wondering what I’d have to show for
myself.  As they chattered on about their jobs, houses, and children,
their lives seemed so far away from where I was that I found myself beginning
to pay more attention to the kids, feeling more at ease with them than I did
with the adults.  For the first time ever in Mr. Hunter’s company, I felt
too young.

When we went to bed that night, he asked if something was
bothering me.  I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the
words to describe how I’d felt at dinner.  He played with a strand of my
hair, waiting patiently, watching my face with concern.

“It’s just that all this time we’ve been together, I thought our
age difference was a potential problem for me.  It’s not a problem for me,
that’s not what I mean, but you were so worried that you were too old for me,
and Britt was concerned about your intentions too, and I was only focused on
how you being older was not an issue, not the other way around.”  I rubbed
my face, frustrated at my incoherence.  “What I mean is, it never occurred
to me until tonight that my age might be a problem for you.  That I’m too
young for you.”

He looked at me with so much affection, running one of his fingers
up and down my cheek.

“Sylvia, I don’t care if you’re twenty-one, thirty-one, or
forty-one.”

He only called me Sylvia during our most intimate moments.  I
rolled over to face him, reading nothing in his expression but truth.

“But -”

“But,” he leaned in to kiss me.  “But.”  He kissed me
again.  “But.”  Again.  “Miss Lane, the princess of buts.” 
Again.

I couldn’t help but chuckle.  “That did not sound
right.  I do not want to be the princess of buts.”

He ran his hand over my rear.  “Sorry, my girl, but you kind
of are.”

“Stop it,” I giggled.  “I’m serious.  I felt so young at
dinner.  Don’t you want to be with someone who’s finished their education,
has a career, someone who’s at the same stage of life as you?”

“You will finish your education, you will have a successful
career, and as far as my stage of life goes, my life was empty until I met you,
so what difference does it make?”

This was as close as we'd come to discussing the future, and it
sure sounded like he wanted me in his.  Did I want him in mine? 
Without a doubt.  Not a single doubt.

“Adam.”  It passed my lips in a whisper.

“Say it again.”

“Adam.”

“Come here.”

Jonathan joined me in the kitchen late Wednesday morning as I was
putting together lunch.  I turned down the radio so that we could talk
more easily.

“I feel so bad that you’re doing all this cooking.  Are you
sure we can’t help out?”

“No,
it’s
okay, Jonathan, but thanks for
offering.  This is actually the first week I feel like I’m earning my
salary.  Your brother pays me way too much.”

“Does
he
now
.”

“Yes.  He’s very generous.”

“So when did you two meet?”

“When I interviewed for the job back in mid-May, so just over two
months ago, I guess.”

“That’s all?”

“Yep.  Why?”

“I don’t know.  You two just seem like you’ve been together
longer somehow.”

“Well, we’ve been pretty inseparable since I moved in, except when
he’s working, or I’m working, and sometimes not even then.  He plays the
piano while I’m cleaning the library.”

“He does?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Jonathan had the same mannerism of running his hand through his
hair as his older brother.  I tossed the pasta salad I was making while I
waited to see if it signified the same uneasiness.

“It’s just that last year he refused to play for us.  He said
he didn’t play at all anymore and was even thinking of selling his piano.”

“I’m so glad he didn’t.”

“He was so good, growing up, Sylvia.  He was the only one of
us with any musical talent, and we all thought he had a gift.  Our mother,
especially.”

“He told me that he used to give her trouble about practicing.”

“I never heard any.  She used to drop whatever she was doing
and just sit and listen when he played.”

“Were they very close?”

“Very.  He inherited her creativity and love of art. 
They were a lot alike.  Does he talk about her very much?”

“No, not really.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I know that your parents passed away.  I’m so sorry about
that.”

“Yeah, that was rough.  They were killed by a drunk
driver.  On the one hand, it was instant so they didn’t suffer, but on the
other, our lives were turned upside down in a second.”

“I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for you. 
How old were you when it happened?”

“I was seventeen, still in high school.  Robert was a
sophomore in college and Adam was a senior.”

I shook my head, thinking that I’d be a senior next year. 
“What a horrible age to lose your parents, not that there’s ever a good age.”

“Adam actually took it the hardest.  Maybe because he was the
oldest, I don’t know.”

I went to work on the macaroni and cheese I was making for the
kids.  “He told me that he dropped out of school after that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.  He and our father had argued for
months about whether or not he could go to art school instead of something more
practical like our father wanted.  I can still remember hearing them yell
at each other.  No one had ever raised their voices like that in our
house.  It was Mom who finally convinced our dad to let him go.  And
then after they died, he just quit when he only had one semester to go before
graduating.”

“Poor Adam.”  I wished I could go back in time and comfort
him.

“Things were really bad between him and our father that year,
too.  Adam had met someone at school, a girl.  He brought her home
for Thanksgiving. I thought she was really nice, but I guess Dad didn’t approve
of her.  He could be really old-fashioned about social status.  I
never knew all the details, just that Adam refused to come home over the winter
break that year, and that it had to do with Jill, I think her name was. 
My parents were killed in February, and Adam and our father hadn’t reconciled
yet.”

“That’s terrible.  He told me about her, but not the part
about your dad.”

“I should probably let him tell you this stuff.  He knows
more about it than I do, obviously.”

I pulled some servings plates out and started setting out the
pasta dishes.

“No, I’m glad you told me.  He doesn’t talk about his past
very much and I don’t like to pry, so there’s still a lot I don’t know about
him.”

“Like what?  I’ll answer one question if I can have a piece
of that cheese.”

“Deal.”  I smiled, handed him a slice of fresh mozzarella,
and thought for a moment.  What was something I could ask that Jonathan
wouldn’t feel was too personal?

“Do you know why he moved here?  I mean, I know he got a job
with Noble, but he could have worked anywhere, I imagine.  I’ve wondered
if there was a particular reason he chose here.”

“I think it was more about leaving the States.  He’d had
another relationship end on bad terms and we all figured he just wanted to get
away.”

“Ah.”

“We’ve actually been somewhat worried about him, Robert and
I
.  We thought he’d decided to become a hermit. 
After our last visit, we were convinced of it, in fact.”

I turned on the broiler and started assembling the open-faced
sandwiches.

“Do you still think that?”

He looked around the kitchen, his gaze finally settling on the
radio.

“Sylvia, I haven’t seen him this happy since before our parents
died.  This house was like a funeral home last time we were here.  I
can’t believe how different it feels now.”  He gestured to the
radio.  “Like people actually live here.”

I laughed a little.  “It couldn’t have been that bad,
surely.”

He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling in the corners just like Mr.
Hunter’s.  “Trust me. It was.”

I opened the oven door and slid the sandwiches in just as Robert
and two of the children came in.

“Hi there,” I said to Robert.  “Lunch is about five minutes
away.  Are you
guys
hungry?” I leaned down to the
kids.  Matthew was Robert’s five year old, and Janie was Jonathan’s four
year old.  Janie ran up to her dad and grabbed his leg instead of
answering me, but Matthew said, “Sylvia, I’m
sooo
hungry.”